


The Recruit

by jaasmintea



Category: Glee
Genre: AU, Chaptered, Characters to be updated later, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, mention of character deaths
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-17 03:48:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13068474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaasmintea/pseuds/jaasmintea
Summary: Something terrible has happened to Kurt, but now he has a chance for a new life. He has been recruited for Government funded school: Dalton Academy, for only the most gifted students. Things are completely different, but somehow strikingly familiar. Thankfully, old-hat pupil Blaine Anderson is here to help Kurt through.





	The Recruit

**Author's Note:**

> Rewritten and reposted from Fanfiction.net. Completely AU from Furt onwards. Originally begun in 2011, continued through 2012, and picked up again in 2017. Because, why not?

Blaine was already up and awake when the knock came at his door. His alarm had woken him up at 5:30am and he had just finished tying his trainers when he went to answer it. He opened it to a small blonde boy, who smiled at him.

"Good morning," said the boy. His hair was a curly mop of blonde curls, pushed back by a thin blue running band. He was wearing his jogging kit, too, though his trainers were much better than Blaine's own. He was saving up his credit to get a better pair at the end of the year - especially when his Christmas bonus came through. His grades were slipping, but he was still in the top 10 percent of the school and he wanted to keep it that way. The higher up you were, the better the bonus.

"Morning, Cass."

"I have a banana and a file for you."

The boy held out the two items in either hand. Blaine tilted his head at the file before he took it and began to flip through what was inside.

"What is this?" he asked as he moved to his desk to further examine the contents of said file. Cass followed him in and shut the door behind them with his foot. He began to peel the second banana he had tucked under his arm and took a bite.

"Didn't look," he said through chewed banana, hoisting himself up onto Blaine's desk and swinging his short legs. He peered over as Blaine began to rifle through the pages.

"Huh," Blaine said, lifting up the paper that contained a photograph and some personal details. "It's a new recruit..."

Cass cocked his head. He put a hand in front of his mouth as he chewed his fruit. "Really?"

Blaine blinked. "Apparently, he's my new training partner."

Cass seemed incredibly displeased at this information.

"What, seriously?" He grabbed for the page and examined it for himself. "Damn it." He frowned pale blonde eyebrows. "Who are they going to put me with now?"

Blaine shrugged and checked his watch. Upon seeing the time, he gathered all the contents back up into the folder and left it on his desk.

"I guess we'll find out. Come on, we'll be late."

Cass grumbled as Blaine let them outside, ducking back inside to pick up his water bottle on his bedside table. When he returned to the hallway, Wes and David had already arrived, the latter moaning about his interrupted dream.

"…and just as I was about to accept my award I was jolted awake by this idiot, who jumped on me." David rubbed at his side beneath his rib. “I think you may have broken something, Wes.”

Wes was grinning. "You didn't wake up when I knocked, so what do you expect?" When he noticed Blaine's arrival, he reached for the boy's shoulder. "My dear friend David is being ungrateful again."

"What is it _this time_?" Blaine asked, beginning to smirk. “Is it worse than when Wes locked you in your room and stole your key when you were studying for that test?”

“I threw food in for you,” Wes said, coming to his own defence when David glared at him again. The darker boy rolled his eyes and walked ahead with Cass while Wes shouldered Blaine behind. The four fell into comfortable chatter as they headed towards the track for their morning run.

 

* * *

 

There was a picture of a boat on the wall. Beneath the rusted muted-red hull, waves rolled and sunk. Sunlight caught on the tin metal roof and shattered off the surface of the blue ocean.

Kurt stared at it a moment, before he turned at the click of the door. A woman stepped into sight, with a clipboard to her chest. She wore a pressed white blouse tucked into a pair of blue jeans. A biro was attached to the board by a piece of string and it swung in the air like a pendulum, taking all of Kurt's attention.

"Mr Hummel?" The woman asked. "How was your sleep?"

"What?" Kurt asked, frowning. He blinked to clear his head, but couldn't make sense of anything. “Uh… it – it was…” What _had_ it been? He couldn’t remember even being asleep, just suddenly being awake and staring at the white ceiling as the sleepy haze faded. He shook his head. “Who are you? Where am I?”

He didn't recognise the room or the woman or the bed he had climbed out of just minutes previous. But the woman had a kind smile. Kurt wondered if this was why she was the first face he saw.

"You're in a very special place," the woman said, picking up her biro.

His eyes widened. Was he… _dead_? He'd never believed in god before, but if this was heaven then why did his head hurt so bad? Surely pain was not a physical thing after death…

"Why don't you come with me?" The woman asked, pulling Kurt from his thoughts. "I've just made a fresh pot of coffee and we can have a chat. And I'll get someone to take another look at that head while we're there."

Kurt blinked, then raised his fingers to his head. As his fingertips found the stitched wound, pain hissed through him and he winced. He turned back to the boat painting and narrowed his eyes, attempting to see himself in the reflection.

To his utter confusion, his face was littered with bruises and cuts. Two black eyes took precedent in the centre of his face, like deep purple eyeshadow had been badly applied to the wrong side of his eyelid. The wound that had been stitched up was just above his eyebrow, and there was dried blood around the seams of the cut.

"What on earth...?"

"Come on," the woman said. "Let's get you some coffee."

 

* * * 

 

The woman led him down a quiet hallway. In the grey pyjamas he'd woken up in, Kurt couldn't help but feel vulnerable. They were thin and most definitely _not him_. The identity he’d fought so hard for felt so lost in the threads.

He stopped at one window and looked out. Outside, the grounds spanned off into the distance, touching up to the seams of a neighbouring forest. There were large buildings of different shapes dotted around the complex. One looked like a large metal warehouse, like somewhere you would store a small collection of airplanes. Further down, he noticed movement. A small door to the big metal hanger opened and released what looked like two small boys in white kimonos.

The woman brushed his arm when she'd noticed he'd stopped. "My office is this way." Kurt pulled himself away from the window and followed her again.

Pulling a key from a hook on her waistband, the woman let them into an office through a two-layered door.

The room was stately, with a large ornate desk and a bookcase behind. Behind the desk, two wall length windows let light flood into the room like a living, breathing thing. There was a sofa and coffee table in one corner and the woman gestured for Kurt to sit there. Without sitting, he watched as she took two mugs from the glass cabinet across the room and filled them with dark coffee from a coffee pot.

"Do you take milk?"

"No."

"Sugar?"

"No… Thanks."

When she joined him, she asked him once again to take a seat. When he stayed standing, arms folded, the woman's shoulders dropped with a light exhale. She took a radio from her waistband and held down a button.

"Mardi, can you come and take a look at Kurt Hummel's head again?"

There was a crackle before, "Sure thing. Be there in a couple minutes."

She tucked the radio away again and smiled at him, patting the seat next to her. "You'll be more comfortable."

"I'm okay, thanks." Kurt took another inventory of the room. "What is this place? And who _are_ you?"

The woman clutched her clipboard again and shrugged. It seemed she wasn't going to make him sit if he didn’t want to. Instead she lifted his coffee to him. The mug had Winnie the Pooh's chipped face on it and Kurt couldn't help feeling it was somewhat out of place with the mystery and threat of this unknown place. He threaded his fingers through the handle and cupped it in his hands. The warmth seeped through to his palms and Kurt let it, until it burnt him.

"Before you get any grand ideas about death or prison -"

Kurt looked up in surprise.

"This is actually a school, Kurt." The woman said. "An academy for gifted individuals, just like yourself."

She took a sip of her coffee and winced when it was too hot, returning it to the coffee table.

Kurt frowned. "Gifted individuals?"

He couldn't help where his mind went next.

Could it be that he had finally been scouted and brought to New York? It wouldn't account for the bruises or the mystery of the thing, but it would put Rachel Berry in her place, that's for sure...

"Students with the most promising GPA's,” Kurt’s shoulders fell slightly. “Students who we think are adaptable and quick thinking. Mostly we take individuals from North America, but we often recruit students from all over the world. If we see a potential in you, then we don't mind where you're from."

Kurt finally took a seat.

"Am I dreaming?"

The woman smiled. "If only," she said. "But, no, you're not."

"And you want... _me_?"

Kurt was aware that he was smart for his age, but he had never deemed himself 'gifted' for his grades. (Not out loud, anyway.) Surely, they'd mistaken him for someone else. What with the Karofsky incident, he hadn’t been able to fully embrace his studying as of late, and his latest report card demonstrated that.

He looked at the dark liquid that refracted the light that poured into the office. The surface of the coffee trembled and he told his hands to be calm.

"We do."

"I don't..." Kurt wasn't sure what to say. Was this an invitation? Was he able to turn it down and go home? "Why - I don't -"

He couldn't make this decision on his own. He would need to talk to his dad first. Plus, there was the matter of the glee club. His friends were there. The choir room was the second place he’d ever really felt at home. Although...

Another image of Karofsky flashed through his mind and he closed his eyes, swallowing down the discomfort.

"What are the fees? Are there any scholarship programs? My family don't have a lot of money."

"No, no," the woman said, waving her hand. "It's not... it's a government funded academy. Any costs are submitted to the board, and then wavered by the council."

Kurt blinked. "I... wait what?"

The woman put down her coffee, then reached over to Kurt's hands and took his own from him, placing it lightly on the table in front of him. She sat back and said, "There is _one_ catch however."

 _Of course,_ Kurt thought to himself, _isn't there always?_

"Do you know much about the war, Kurt?"

This was not where he expected this conversation to go. He blinked, baffled. "I’m sorry?"

"The Second World War."

"I guess some?"

It was not on his list of well-known facts – that list was reserved purely for show tunes and the designers of his favourite brands.

“How does…”

"Okay so,” the woman began. “During the second world war, and now still, there were, and are, towns, out in the desert and in the mountains. They existed solely for research purposes and for that reason, needed to also exist somewhat outside of the law. There were entire communities living in these towns, living normal and full lives - the wives and children of the scientists and mathematicians who worked there."

Kurt felt very sick suddenly. He shifted in his seat. This was heading in a bad direction and he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to follow.

"However," she said, slowly, beginning her descent into the punchline. "Like the towns, these people did not technically exist either. Psychically, yes, but lawfully… no."

"And this school..." Kurt said, catching the thread.

"Is like that, yes." The woman's eyes dropped to her lap and she took a breath, before meeting Kurt's eye again. "The reason we want you Kurt... is not just for your intelligence. That, yes, but also for something else. You match our criteria because you currently no longer have any blood relatives in the United States."

Cold liquid replaced Kurt’s blood.

"That’s not true.”

There was a pain in his chest, behind his rib cage. It expanded until he couldn't breathe. The woman remained calm, but the whole room was beginning to feel like a head rush. He could feel every needle prick that had sewn in his stitches. The hard, tonal pain of both black eyes.

"There was an accident, Kurt," the woman said. "A truck went into the side of the car that carried you, your step-mother, your step-brother, and your father. Everyone in the car... everyone in the accident was pronounced dead at the scene. Even you, for a short time."

"I was..."

"Dead. For a couple of minutes. You were lucky to be revived."

He had run out of breath. Kurt clutched at the arm of the sofa. All of this was too much information. His vision blurred as there was a rap of knuckles at the door. A clash of ocean waves - that could've easily been the anguished scream of shattering metal on wet concrete - crippled him. He bent over his knees and thought about throwing up. He didn't process the noise until the doctor had knelt in front of him, trying to get his attention.

"Kurt?" said the doctor. "Kurt, I'm Dr. Vikram. Can you hear me? Kurt?"

 

* * *

 

 

When the boys were done with their run, they returned to the dorms for showers before breakfast. Wes was rubbing his stomach and he groaned.

"I was not feeling that at _all_ today." He reached across for David’s arm, who, in return, shrugged him off. He pouted. “Mean.”

“Yeah, well, try running it with a broken rib,” David said, massaging his abdomen through his t-shirt. “Seriously.”

Cass snorted and pushed through to walk ahead of them. He walked backwards as he addressed them. "Don't you know what they say, Wes?"

Wes eyed the boy warily. "What do who say?"

"The experts."

He narrowed his eyes. "I know nothing about this."

Cass landed a heavy hand on Wes’ shoulder and leaned into him. "A 5K a day keeps the high-cholesterol away.” David choked on his drink as Blaine chuckled and Wes rolled his eyes, shoving his friend away.

“Har har,” Wes said, before extending his arms and lacing his fingers behind his neck. “Well, thankfully it doesn’t run in my family, so I think I’ll take tomorrow off.”

When they reached Wes and David's parallel rooms, they said goodbye until breakfast and Blaine and Cass went on alone. Once they were out of earshot, Cass checked over his shoulder to see the two boys go into their separate rooms, before he rounded on Blaine.

"So, I guess you're missing morning classes, huh?"

Blaine thought back to the files on his desk and the elfin boy depicted in the photograph on the left of the page. He'd already forgotten the name of the boy. K-something. Keith? Khan?

As he let himself into his own room, telling Cass that he would see him at breakfast, Blaine returned to his desk, perching on the edge of his chair and staring at the thin beige cardboard sheath, containing all the information about his new training partner.

He frowned at it, for some reason, unable to reach forward and open it.

For three months now, while Cass' original partner was out of commission on a broken leg, the two of them had been paired up and they had been building a slow rhythm. New partners were not the strangest things at Dalton Academy - as boys came and went, training pairs were shifted. And it was often for great effect; each pair taught each other something new.

Some partners helped you succeed in one area, while another helped you grow in something completely different.

With Cass, he had found greater strength in his defence work. Cass was particularly quick on his feet and Blaine had spent enough time lying on his back and looking up at the ceiling of the dojo to start parrying his jabs and blows in order to defend himself.

He wondered what he could possibly learn from this one.

A klaxon sounded from the main building and Blaine lifted his head a little. He grabbed a clean towel from his cupboard and got in the shower, leaving the file unexamined on his desk.

 

* * *

 

 

Dr. Vikram dabbed at his head with some kind of anti-bacterial solution. It stung, but Kurt could barely feel it through the numb cloud around his mind.

The two women were talking to him - or about him to each other - but Kurt couldn't make out a word of it. There was only the relayed information playing over and over and over in his head, as if stuck on some kind of harrowing refrain.

            _...A truck went into the side of the car..._

_...your step-mother, your step-brother, and your father..._

_...pronounced dead..._

_...even you..._

How was he supposed to hear anything over the low din of that hard truth? All he could do was picture that boat aloft in the lazy sea. He tried to imagine the sound of the lapping ocean, replicated from the sounds he'd heard on TV.

Kurt blinked as Dr. Vikram began putting away her first aid kit, hearing the rattle of bottles and equipment and the metal sound as she closed the tin lid. He made another attempt to focus on their voices and slowly pieced enough conversation together to tune back in.

"…all's looking fine, psychically," Dr. Vikram was saying. "But I would keep an eye out for the next couple of weeks. I'd like to take another look at that lung in a few days, too."

The woman nodded and showed the doctor out, shutting the door behind her. She took her seat opposite Kurt again and held her knees.

"I know this is a lot to take in right now, but I'd like to invite you to take a look around before you make any assumptions about us here. Our facilities are state of the art, and our faculty is handpicked from some of the best universities the world has to offer. There's no better place to get an education than here."

Kurt's throat was dry. "And what if I don't want to be here?"

The woman looked pained. "Unfortunately, as a ward of the state, the state is technically your legal guardian and has final say in where you end up..."

Kurt's eyebrows arched. "So, I don't have a say in the matter?"

The woman pulled a face. She seemed actively displeased to impart this information onto him. "As I said, before you make your estimates about us, let me give you a tour of the complex. You may be pleasantly surprised."

Kurt once again tightened his hold on the arm of the sofa as she stood up and grabbed a set of keys from the top drawer of her desk. "Come on," she said. "Let me show you around."

Kurt refused to stand as she crossed to the door. Without looking at her, he said, "I don't even know who you are. You never told me your name."

The woman frowned and her eyes lifted to the left, as if searching her memory, before they grew wide and she tucked a piece of red hair behind her ear.

"Oh, I'm sorry, forgive me. My name is Helen Valentine,” she said and returned to hold a hand out to him. “I'm the student point of contact slash head councillor here." Kurt touched her hand and felt the warm blood in her fingers. She straightened up and pushed the door, holding it open for the both of them. "Now," she said. "Care to join me?"

 

* * *

 

 

As his friends reappeared for breakfast, Blaine closed his file. He'd spent the best part of ten minutes scanning and archiving information about a boy called Kurt Hummel.

He was sixteen years old - three years before Dalton's graduating age; male - enrolled at Dalton and not Dalton's sister school; fluent in French - highly attentive; was previously part of his school's glee club and once a kicker on his school's football team – that one left question marks in Blaine’s head, but he didn’t want to make assumptions.

The story of how Kurt had come to end up at Dalton was there too, but Blaine had read enough of those kinds of recounts to go mostly unaffected by it.

They headed down to breakfast together in order to refuel after the run and get ready for classes, which began at 8:15am sharp. All besides Blaine, who would spend the morning getting ready for the recruit who would become his closest companion for the next however many months, until partners were switched up again. This would involve preparing a tour and induction for the traumatised boy. Of course, for Blaine, who'd spent six years doing this, it was an old kind of job now, and instead, he would spend the morning using his time to study up and revise his notes from yesterday's classes.

But first there was breakfast to be done, and curious minds with grabbing hands to distract. Blaine put a hand on Kurt's file and slid it closer to himself as he saw Wes' fingers walk themselves across the table to the folder.

"Blaine, why are you _the_ world's biggest killjoy?" Wes asked, instead stabbing his protein filled pancakes with a fork and jamming them into his mouth. Blaine looked at his friend with mild revulsion as maple syrup began to dribble from the corner of his lips. As did the other two. David lowered his steaming coffee.  

"How exactly Lucy could find that anywhere near attractive is questionable at this point," Cass said as David held out a napkin for the drooling boy.

"Plus, this is for my eyes only," Blaine explained as Wes wiped his mouth and fingers. "It's confidential information."

Wes and David both frowned at one another. Wes was still swallowing his food when David asked, "are you going to tell us what it is?"

"No. You'll find out soon enough -"

"It’s just a new recruit," Cass interrupted. "Some kid called Kurt Hummel. Blaine's new training partner. Parents dead in a car crash. No big deal, really." He took a sip of his tea and slanted a look at Blaine, who took his hand off the file and rolled his eyes.

"Cass," he said, scandalised. "You said you didn't look."

"Yeah, well, I may have been lying," Cass admitted, ducking away.

"So, you knew I was getting a new partner all along?"

Cass' eyes skated away from the confrontation. "Maybe."

Wes and David exchanged looks before leaning forward on the table. "So, what's the deal with him?" Wes asked.

Blaine raised an eyebrow, approaching the question cautiously. "What do you mean by 'deal'?"

"I mean like, what's his story? What happened to him? Car crash, is that it? Pretty weak."

"Wes, stop."

"What? I'm just curious!"

David put his hand on the back of Wes' head and shoved it forward. Wes kicked him under the table and Blaine watched, amused, as the two began to bicker and fight like brothers. After five years of being neighbours, their relationship had developed as such.

He was smirking at the two, until Cass' hand found his wrist. As his nails dug into Blaine skin, Blaine looked over and saw the smaller boy had his head hung, his eyes hard on the table. Everything about Cass’ demeanour had changed to one of distress in a couple of seconds.

Blaine cocked his head. "Cass?" He asked. "What is it?"

Now that he had the attention of Wes and David, too, Cass shook his head and removed his hand. He pressed himself to sit up straight again. "Nothing, it's nothing."

But when he refused to look up at any of them, neither Blaine nor the bickering two, were convinced.

Instead they looked up and tried to find what had caused the outburst. It wasn’t long before Blaine spotted the problem. An Italian-looking boy on crutches was coming near their table. His hair was tucked into a beanie and nothing about him screamed threatening. Still, Cass refused to acknowledge his presence. He turned into Blaine, trying to avoid eye contact with the approaching boy.

Wes turned to follow Blaine’s eye line. The moment he saw the boy coming nearer, his face lit up. He reached out a hand for him. "Hey Cam," he said, when Cameron had stopped next to the table. "What's up man? How's the leg?"

Cameron smiled, taking Wes’ offered hand. "Not bad. I should be off crutches within the week. Doc says I can come back to some light training after that. You think you'd be up for that Cassidy?"

Cass didn't say anything, just grew more and more tense as the seconds passed. Finally, when they realised Cass wasn't going to answer, Blaine did instead. "Well, you'll be able to have your partner back. I've been assigned someone new."

Wes grinned, picking up his fork once again. "And what happened to keeping us in suspense, Mr Anderson?"

Blaine narrowed his eyes at the boy. "Well, considering _you_ of all people know, Wes, I’m sure it won’t be too long until the rest of the school finds out. You’re like Dalton’s one-man gossip machine or something. It’s unbelievable.”

Cameron was looking back and forth between the conversing pair. He lifted an interested brow. "A new kid or somebody we already know?"

"New kid," David answered.

But before they could get any further in the conversation, there was a loud _bang_. They all turned to watch as Cass got up from his seat and walked away, leaving his tray of unfinished breakfast on the table. Cass slammed the door open, sending other students scattering, as he marched out.

Blaine shifted his concerned gaze to Cameron, who stood propped up on his crutches still, staring at the door.

"Cam?" David asked.

Cameron merely shook his head. "It's fine... don't worry about it. I better go. Take it easy, guys." The older boy limped away again, leaving the three to exchange looks of concern.

 

* * *

 

It wasn't long until the entire hall began to clear out. The time was coming up to 8am and classes were to begin in only quarter of an hour. Blaine however, remained seated, waving to his friends as they dragged their feet to class.

“But, David, I don’t _want_ to go…”

Once the room was cleared and the staff began clearing away breakfast, Blaine opened his file again and touched the page with his new partner's face on it. He drew his finger over the boy’s smile, then under his eyes. He moved his hand to cover his mouth and forehead with his fingers. There was something irrevocably sad about his eyes, like he was trying to be happy but couldn’t quite get there yet. Blaine frowned.

A couple pages deeper, he found a table of contents he'd need to gather and then explain to Kurt, as an induction of sorts. He would need to go to the shop and request a school and training uniform, along with some other day outfits; dress shoes, tennis shoes, trainers, and combat boots; work books, stationary and text books; toiletries and cleaning products. With a plastic card inside a sleeve embossed onto the inside of the file, he would be able to attain all of these things for free.

As he fingered the small piece of plastic, Blaine considered all the things yet to come… Morning light wafted into the cafeteria like a draft. Across the grounds, Kurt glanced up as the trees shivered when an October gust of wind spiralled through the branches. He clung to his arms, his pyjamas not warm enough to fight off the chill. Helen gestured for him to follow her into the grounds.

Blaine touched his chin with the card, before gathering up his stuff and exiting the cafeteria, leaving the light behind him. He walked onwards, towards something entirely, unexpectedly new.

* * *

 Tbc.


End file.
